A Little Support Is Necessary
by bootsontheground
Summary: Natalie has a secret. One that she doesn't even realize she's hiding half the time. She spends every day reminding herself why she can't report him: Julie, Julie, the rent she still owes the bastard, and she just too tired to fight. Those are her reasons, she says. Except she's ignoring the last one: fear. She thinks she can deal with it all, but a little support may be necessary.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A little something that's been sitting on my laptop for a while. Unfinished. Will be slow to complete. **TRIGGER WARNING** for relatively explicit description of sexual harassment, sexual assault, and bruising.

I began this story like a year ago. Haven't really worked on it since. Figure you guys may enjoy it anyway -boots

Disclaimer: I don't own Monk. If I did, there would've been a lot more Natalie and a lot more talk about Mitch.

…

I knew my luck was running too strong. I had found money on the street thrice this week. The landlord hadn't harassed me since the previous Thursday. Mr. Monk had even given me a raise- a small raise, but a raise still; he had realized that after tax cuts, my paycheck was slightly uneven. Then Julie actually gave me a hug on Sunday without even asking for something- she was going through a moody phase lately and avoided me like the plague.

It was all putting me on edge. At first, I was so jolly and cheerful- luck at last! Then I found money a fourth time- a hundred-dollar bill stuck to my shoe- and it all seemed a bit too much. It felt like the universe was apologizing in advance. Needless to say, the jolliness began to fade.

I was right too; my luck withered, and the universe reared back before charging.

First, Julie went back to her 'whatever' phase. Then, Mr. Monk's wedding anniversary came up and Trudy's death began to take its toll on his attitude. Mr. Levington went back to waiting by my car in the mornings and flashing bright red eviction notices and even brighter condoms on my evening walks home from the parking lot. The final nail in my coffin came in the form of a dead woman whose name I had long forgotten.

* * *

I didn't remember Mitch's anniversary. I didn't think it was possible to forget. But today I awoke, and I had forgotten. There was no smeared ink circle on the calendar and there was no false dentist appointment that would cover my visit to the cemetery. My chest felt hollow.

Mr. Monk or the Captain never noticed when it was Mitch's anniversary. Mostly because I never told them, and partly because I always purposefully act the same.

Julie had stopped mourning the day years ago.

I still remember the day we fought over Mitch's death. Julie found the report of her dad's desertion and believed them over me. She threw every doubt I had in my face over and over again. But I couldn't give in- someone had to believe in Mitch and if that person had to be me then that's who I would be.

"Stop being so naïve, Mom! Mitch was a deserter- a traitor!" The words had frozen the room for a millisecond before I raised my hand.

I am not an abusive mother. But I can no longer say I've never struck my daughter. The stinging in my hand and that tiny gasp that escaped my little girl were testament to that. I'm not sure why I did it. Perhaps it was the way Julie had spit out his name or the way she had said those words that his surviving crewman and the near-widows and the actual widows had spit at me all those years ago.

We don't talk about it anymore. Neither does Julie circle the date on her calendar anymore, nor make a special cake with little homemade flags anymore. But then again, neither do I.

So, I got up. I made my Julie breakfast. I showered as quickly as possible. I allowed a ten second glance at the wedding ring on the dressing table and the folded flag on the shelf. But I didn't let myself glance at any of the few pictures of him that were around the house- the few Julie hadn't kept removing until I gave up. I didn't allow myself to remember him and his hair and his smile and his squeaky laugh.

There was no time for that.

* * *

It isn't raining. The day is dry and slightly crisp with heat. Nevertheless, Mr. Monk has nine umbrellas. Not good- not good at all.

"Natalie! Natalie this is not a laughing matter!"

Mr. Monk is probably too distressed to notice how hard it is for me to laugh. He's probably preoccupied with the umbrellas and thought his assistant's problems to be unimportant in this time of crisis. And, usually, I would take comfort from this obliviousness and latch onto to it as a much-needed distraction. But today I am tired and hollow. I want to hole up in my house until the storm has passed. Julie's presence usually shakes me out of this sort of funk, but she's older and more independent now, and she very rarely needs me desperately to take her somewhere or get her something or talk to her about someone.

So, I spent longer than one usually would to decide whether it was worth it to leave the house and dive into the storm of the real world. But in the end, I had to go out- someone's got to pay the bills and drive away the loan vultures. Besides, a sick day would gain too much attention.

"I just kicked out Mr. Auswami the other day. He was behind on his payment, almost as much as you are. But you're a single mother so I'm trying to be lenient on you."

The regret at stepping out of the house was instant. I should've looked through the window first. But it was too late, my unshaven and over-cologned landlord dived straight for me. "I know, Mr. Levington, and I thank you so much for your consideration. I will pay you as soon as possible."

Red-rimmed eyes wandered over my body. "You must get awfully lonely, Nat."

I could feel my spine stiffen. "That's not my name. Don'tcall me that!" My voice was thick with tears.

His eyebrows rose up in surprise, but he still moved closer. "My bad, honey."

The morning air went up more than a few degrees. "Please, Mr. Lev-"

"Now, now. You can call me Devin, sugar." His alcohol-soaked breath blew over my face and rustled my short hair. "As for your payment plan…I figured with your financial situation," his hand grazed my cheek, "you might want some alternative paths of payment available to you."

"Please, I-" Inside I was begging, not today not today, I was too tired for this today.

"I know, sugar. There's no need to thank me." His lips were less than an inch from mine, but I was frozen. He tightly gripped my arms and pushed me against the door. My hands shook and all I could think of was Mitch and his soft hands covering mine, stilling them, and soothing my nerves.

"I- I'm- I'm not-"

I don't remember when Mr. Levington pulling me in by the hair and kissing me. I just remember his lips sucking at my face and biting my skin and tongue, smearing the light lip gloss I had taken time to put on. His hands were gripping my wrists above me, tighter and tighter until I thought they would break.

"Mom!" Julie's scream ripped him off me. I don't remember when I had started crying, but there were tears staining my cheeks and mixing with the lip gloss.

"Miss Teeger!" The bastard had the gall to look embarrassed. "I'm afraid you've caught me and your mother at a rather bad time!" He chuckled.

Julie glanced from him to me, and then wandered to my smeared lips and reddened wrists. "Mom?"

"Did you need something, Julie?" I flashed her a small smile, flinching slightly as Mr. Levington ran his fingers through my hair as he turned and left, whistling as went.

"I just… I missed the bus."

"We should get going then- don't want my little girl to be late for school!" I ushered her into my car, quickly wiping at my lips when Julie turned away.

…


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A little something that's been sitting on my laptop for a while. Unfinished. Will be slow to complete. **TRIGGER WARNING** for relatively explicit description of sexual harassment, sexual assault, and bruising.

I began this story like a year ago. Haven't really worked on it since. Figure you guys may enjoy it anyway. -boots

Disclaimer: I don't own Monk. If I did, there would've been a lot more Natalie and a lot more talk about Mitch.

…

The ride to school was quiet and tense. I saw Julie's pale fingers fidgeting with her skirt and I prayed she wouldn't ask about what Mr. Levington was doing. Unfortunately, my lucky week was coming to an end, and as the roads became less pot-holed and more speed-bumped, Julie finally gathered her courage in that typical teenage fashion- bluntly.

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Are you and Mr. Levington dating?"

Honking came from left and right as I swerved into the wrong lane. Breathing heavily, I twirled the wheel and brought the sedan to a halt at the curb of the street.

The trees swayed lightly as a slight breeze fluttered through the heat. I rested my head against the steering wheel. I held a breath until my lungs began to whine, and then released it with a huff.

"Mom?" Julie whispered. "Are you okay?"

I turned to face her. Mitch always said that we had the same eyes- stormy blue waves, he would say, a wild color. "No, sweetie, I am not dating that man." A tiny sigh escaped me, and shaky fingers ran through my hair. "Any more questions, honey?"

Julie bit her lip, and I knew she wasn't sure whether I was upset or not. "Well…"

"It's alright, sweetie. You can ask me anything." But I sure wish you wouldn't at the moment.

"Was he hurting you, Mom?"

Was he hurting me? I blinked. Today was especially rough but Mr. Levington was always overly touchy and suggestive- it was just a fact of life. I've lived in a lot of places since my parents separated from me and there were a lot of people, even women, who took advantage of my situation. Whenever Mitch left me alone, like at an off-base apartment for an extended period of time, there was always some landlord or neighbor that wanted to "offer some comfort".

I remember the first time Mitch saw; he walked in on a group of teenagers harassing me in an elevator. I remember how terrified I was. I was barely a year older than some of them, and they were pulling at my clothes and making crass remarks about how they'd like me. Then Mitch appeared. He wanted to surprise me by coming home a day early, but as the elevator doors opened, he saw me, his young wife, crowded into a corner with tears streaking down my face. He was my hero then, and he was my hero plenty of times afterwards. Then he died, and no one came to the rescue anymore.

"You should tell the Captain or Mr. Monk, Mom."

"No!" I blinked awake. "No, sweetie, that won't be necessary." Sometimes you had to be your own hero. "It was just a misunderstanding." And sometimes, you had to put the heroism aside for the betterment of someone more important than you. That is, after all, what it means to be a mother.

"Are you sure, cuz it looked pretty-"

"Yes, I'm sure, Julie." Mitch was dead. There was no more room- no more time- for heroism.

* * *

"Maya Dierdre Jiao. Thirty-six year old mother of two deceased boys." Randy read off his notes, trailing behind Mr. Monk and me. "She's a sanitorial engineer at a local high school and at _Clean & Scat Services_."

"You mean a janitor, Randy?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"It is a very serious profession, okay! They really do do the work of an engineer! Tell her, Monk!"

Mr. Monk nodded. "It is, it's very important, Natalie." I rolled my eyes and watched my boss move back and forth across the room, straightening things.

The body was in the center of the room. The victim's caramel dyed hair was sprawled out on the stained carpet. Her legs were slightly lifted by the lower bars of the stool she had fallen from.

"Cause o' death?" The Captain shuffled into the conversation, smiling slightly at me in greeting.

"Shot in the back four times, sir. In the back of the left shoulder, right shoulder, lumber region, and left hip."

A twitch took hold of my eye and I swallowed hard. It could just be a coincidence. I was probably just being overly sensitive because of the anniversary.

"So, the shooter comes in through the front door," the Captain moved to the door, gruffly pointing a finger gun in the direction of the bar stool, "shoots her once, twice, three times, and then-" He cuts himself off.

"Captain?"

"Something's not right." Stottlemeyer eyed the body again before giving a sweeping glance to the entire room. His gaze stopped at a drooping Natalie, standing off by one of the windows, back pressed against the crinkled blinds, eyes shut and arms wrapped tightly around her midriff. The sleeve of her shirt pulled back as she clenched her arms tighter and the Captain's eyes snagged on the bruises. They were in splotches of barely noticeable blue-green around the length of her wrist. He took a deep breath to replace the air that had been knocked from his lungs.

"Captain, what's up?" Randy questioned, pen still poised above his notepad.

The Captain grumbled before diverting his eyes. "Oh… nothing, Randy, just remembered something I'd forgotten that's all."

"What'd you forget, Captain?"

The older man gave a huff at his lieutenant's nagging. "Just something Karen wanted me to do."

"What did she want you to do, Captain?' He persisted.

Stottlemeyer rolled his eyes and turned to glare at his subordinate. "Randy?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Mind your own business."

"…Yes, Captain."

Monk, meanwhile, had been surveying the evidence and had come up with a few more pieces of the story. They discussed the meaning of the findings as he rifled through his oddities and hassled the bar staff about minute details. No one pulled him back though, as Natalie was still frozen in tension by the window.

"Okay, Monk, let's get you outta here. Randy, take Monk to the station and go over the victim's records with him- see if you can find anything strange or worth killing over. And ask the techs if they could do us a favor and set up a crime scene simulation; something isn't adding up." He turned to Natalie and inwardly sighed. "Ms. Teeger?"

"Captain?" Natalie stopped walking, as she had been following Mr. Monk on his way out with Randy.

He looked around uncomfortably before continuing to speak. "Can you actually come with me? I need to speak to you… on a… personal matter…"

Natalie gave him an odd look, perhaps because she wasn't Monk or even Randy, and most definitely had never been privy to his personal life. But she relented after a moment and gave him a small nod followed by a tentative conversation with Monk. The widower was not at all pleased but put two packets of wipes in each pocket and grudgingly followed Randy to his car.

"Captain? Do you want to talk here or…?"

"Right! Let's…" Stottlemeyer shook himself out of his contemplation and proceeded towards the back entrance, indicating she follow him. He held the door for her and noticed another barely there bruise peeking out from where her shirt slipped up as she stumbled at the unexpected appearance of stairs beneath her feet. His hand shot out to catch her and he couldn't help but shake a little with anger as he felt the tiniest of flinches escape from beneath her tentative composure.

At the back of the bar is a small fruit stall under an awning with a burger cart right beside it that has him briefly considering before he decides that a little more privacy is due for the talk he's going to put the tired woman beside him through. He spots a relatively clean looking alleyway that has a couple tables in it from the half-baked restaurant next door. But he spots a Dunkin Donuts too and decides to at least treat Natalie to coffee first.

…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: A little something that's been sitting on my laptop for a while. Unfinished. Will be slow to complete. **TRIGGER WARNING** for relatively explicit description of sexual harassment, sexual assault, and bruising.

This is all of got so far. Won't update until my mojo comes back. -boots

Disclaimer: I don't own Monk. If I did, there would've been a lot more Natalie and a lot more talk about Mitch.

…

They're sitting across from each other and he's fidgeting with his coffee cup. Right as he gathers the resolution to speak, she beats him to it and her words are so sweet he wonders how anyone could hurt such a caring person as Natalie Teeger. But that thought is quickly quelled as he is reminded of his brief stint in Special Victims as an officer and the bodies littered with abuse that even now end up on his desk.

"You're a kind and good man, Captain, and if you are having problems with Karen… please don't separate again. You two love each other and even if you guys have problems and fights… every couple does. You're miserable without each other. Captain, I really like you and even though you're technically my boss's boss, I've come to care about you and Randy and the other officers a great deal… and you and Karen can get through whatever this is. I've seen you laugh when you're with her, and not that incredulous laugh you have with Mr. Monk sometimes, I mean your real laugh. You look at her like she's a dancing ballerina in a room full of wobbly gymnasts. And whenever she's upset, its usually because she wants you to see her- she doesn't want anyone's attention but yours." Natalie paused for a breath and noticed the slight smile beneath his mustache. "What's so funny?"

Stottlemeyer sucked in a breath and then shrugged back into his chair. "Me and Karen are actually working through some stuff, but we're pretty happy now a days… much happier than we have been in the past decade." He took a large swallow of scalding coffee and blinked at the burning of his taste buds and the raw ache settling in his throat. What words could one use in a situation like this?

Natalie watched the Captain tentatively. He had said it was a personal matter, but it wasn't about Karen. And he was acting nervously. Oddly enough, he reminded her of herself during the Julie Teeger case and how after each dead body she wouldn't feel as much relief as she did trepidation and jolting fright. She watched as his fingers let go of his coffee cup and his right hand reached across the table and then he was gripping her hand so lightly in his large palms that she could barely feel the rough pads of his fingers on her skin. For a brief moment she was transported back to that elevator barely a decade ago. She remembered how Mitch had held her hand just like this, afraid to touch her for fear of frightening her further. And then, the man holding her hand years later, reached out with his other hand and pulled up her sleeve. The spell was broken, and she wished she had stayed asleep that morning.

"Natalie." If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed the slight shake in the voice of the usually unflappable man. "Who did this?"

Natalie had no reply. Her eyes were frozen on the colors of her wrist. Blue mixed with green with shadows of purple, all sitting on splotches of yellow. She had not noticed this before. How could she forget? Thank heavens Julie didn't see these. Had she forgotten before? Or was it just today? She couldn't remember. Her wrist throbbed, and she felt more than saw that the Captain was probing it lightly with his thumb.

"I don't think it's broken, but you do need to get it checked out just in case." He watched her face. It was pale, and he worried she may faint or throw up. "Natalie?"

"No!" Natalie shouted, pulling her wrist from his palm and cradling it against her torso.

"Natalie?"

"Please, Captain, I have nowhere else to go! No other place will take us!" She was crying without the tears and her eyes were red and itchy but so dry she blinked again and again.

"Who did this? I can protect you, honey." The endearment was whispered as were the rest of his words. This was as close to gentle as Leland Stottlemeyer could get.

"No!" It was firm and yet she sounded so much like a child that it hit Stottlemeyer how young she really was. From what little he knew, he had deduced she had been a teenage mother and that Mitch had entered the military for partially a financial reason; probably to feed newborn Julie. She probably wasn't even thirty yet.

The Captain blinked. Natalie was usually more level-headed than this, but she was clearly terrified of something. It was time to put on the kid gloves. "The ones on your wrist are hurting a bit, right? The one's on your back are probably gonna hurt more if they don't already."

Natalie just pulled at her sleeve until her thumb barely peeked out. Her eyes were glazed slightly, and her breath hitched at the mention of the bruises on her back.

"Karen used to be a nurse for a while before she started with the documentaries again. It was a brief moment, a couple years just, but she was really good at it. She only left because it wasn't her passion. But she fixes me up every time I don't feel like going to the doctor."

"I'm fine, Captain. It was just an accident. I'll put ice on it and it'll be fine."

Bullshit. But if that's how she was gonna play it, then fine. "Oh. Well, its fine if it was accident, but you should still get that checked out." He said it simply, trying to sound nonchalant without being dismissive.

Natalie paused.

"You don't want Julie to see that untreated, Natalie. She'll get worried." It was cruel, but the Captain knew she would do anything for that little girl. "Karen won't say anything to anyone, I promise."

The mother reluctantly nodded. Her wrist still clutched to her torso, cradled like a baby.

* * *

Karen was not very happy to be taken out of her bikram yoga class, but after hearing the state of Leland over the phone, she knew she wanted to be prepared when Adrian's assistant came to the house. To anyone else Leland's usual gruff voice would've been just that, gruff. But she was his wife and she knew what Leland sounded like upset. Leland sounded very upset. Leland sounded like he was trying not to cry. So, Karen made sure everything was ready before setting the teapot on boil.

* * *

The girl was hugging herself, and she was confused for a moment because Adrian wouldn't hire such a young, inexperienced girl. But then the face turned upward to give her a polite hello with eyes anywhere but meeting hers and she saw it was Natalie. She had met her before briefly, but thought her to be a friend of Adrian's, not his assistant.

"Karen." Leland looked horrible. She had sent him out to work clean and fresh and even smiling. Now little hairs from his mustache were poking out from where he would flick them to the side when he was worried. And his tie had been tugged from his neck until it hung loose and swung slightly as he walked. He looked at her like she was gonna solve the problem and she let him because she knew that he knew that she couldn't solve everything and that was okay.

"I put some tea on the stove, would anyone like some?"

Leland looked to Natalie and Natalie smiled politely with a barely spoken "no thank you". Karen watched her husband's eyes drop to the arms cradling her torso and then she saw it.

When Karen was a child she would spend hours painting with a kit of water paints her father had bought her from the traveling fair. Sometimes she would paint her arms until they mimicked the bruises of her mother. Mother would always wash them away before Father came home. She had a desperate desire to carry Natalie in her arms like her mother would and scrub her wrists clean like she would her arms.

Instead she sat on the coffee table in front of her, and gently took hold of the blonde's right arm, pushed up her sleeve, and revealed the phantoms of fingers that gripped her wrist. The sound of a gasp hit the film director's ears; she didn't know whether it had come from Natalie or herself. Some deep-seated instinct told her to go further and she pushed the sleeve beyond the forearm and watched the light lavender sleeve slide into folds until bruises appeared again. These were above her elbow and in stark contrast to the pale, untanned skin. Wherein the bruises on her wrists were blurred and bore the marks of a shifting grip, these were firm and clear. Someone had grabbed her. Roughly and uncaringly. Bastard.

Karen looked to her husband to steady herself but found herself fighting to not flinch back in instinctual fear. Leland was shaking, his eyes locked on the handprint imprinted on Natalie's skin. The look of utter hatred and fury was blatant on his features.

Natalie shifted uncomfortably under Karen's hands and the older woman quickly apologized and pulled the sleeve back down. Leland's eyes continued to glare at her arm. Karen thanked the heavens that Natalie was facing her and couldn't see the terrifying storm rumbling inside Leland.

"Why don't you lie down here sweetie," Karen motioned to the couch, "you look absolutely tuckered out." She sent a look towards Leland as the girl shifted. "I'll get my supplies out from the cabinet and I'll wake you up after you've had a good nap." Natalie surprisingly didn't put up a fight and sank into the sofa, eyes fluttering shut as soon as her head pressed into the cushion.

…


End file.
